


Bar Nights

by MWolfe13



Series: Bar Nights (LoveYouToDeath19) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bar in a Hotel, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MWolfe13/pseuds/MWolfe13
Summary: Here is my fic for the MMF LoveYouToDeath2019 event!Prompt: Character A is running from their past, having witnessed a horrifying loss. They didn’t expect to run into anyone else that might understand exactly where they’re coming from.Loki/Hermione Granger/ThorSuggested Kinks: Smut (optional), Hurt/Comfort, Bar in a Hotel, Bed Sharing TropeSquicks: No bashings, bestiality, underage, etc.Additional Notes: Have fun with it! I don’t mind if only one kink is used.





	Bar Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns/gifts).



> Here is my fic for the MMF LoveYouToDeath2019 event!
> 
> Prompt: Character A is running from their past, having witnessed a horrifying loss. They didn’t expect to run into anyone else that might understand exactly where they’re coming from.
> 
> Loki/Hermione Granger/Thor
> 
> Suggested Kinks: Smut (optional), Hurt/Comfort, Bar in a Hotel, Bed Sharing Trope  
> Squicks: No bashings, bestiality, underage, etc.  
> Additional Notes: Have fun with it! I don’t mind if only one kink is used.

Hermione Granger walked into the hole in the wall bar attached to a small motel that surprisingly served decent food after ending her long shift at the Ministry. The place was small, enough room for maybe thirty people. The paint was peeling, cigar smoke embedded in the walls. There were no pictures of famous people that had graced their establishment, no signs of little league teams they’d sponsored. The bar top and it’s accompanied tables were scratched from years of use. The bartender gave her an acknowledging nod, recognizing her as a regular but not jumping up to gain her favor or make her feel special. 

This Muggle place was the last place anyone would look for Hermione Granger; War Heroine, Brains of the Golden Trio, Brightest Witch of the Age, and all the idiotic accolades she’d been given over the years. 

She loved it. 

Everyone, even her own best friends, thought she was happy. They took in her cheery smile, her witty comebacks, and her successful career as undisputed truth that Hermione’s life was perfect. They didn’t see the way she buried her mind in work, the turned down dates from respectable Wizards. Nobody thought it odd that Hermione retreated into herself during certain days of the year, days that held no significance in their world. Her loved ones gave her warm smiles when she cried during family parties, thinking her sentimental and usually bringing others to tears themselves. 

No one held her at night when she woke from nightmares. Sometimes the dreams were of her trying times during the war. She could deal with those, had learned coping mechanisms to deal with them. No, her dreams were about her greatest shame. 

There was no coping with them. There was no one she could talk to, no way she could relieve the guilt and heartbreak in her soul. She’d committed a crime that violated the protections for Muggles put in place sometime after Grindelwald's downfall. If she’d come out with her transgression right after the war, she’d have been tried by the same tribunal she’d been a part of, especially as said Muggles had died. 

She hasn’t been there, hadn’t even known her carefully executed plan had failed. But she could hear their plea’s for help in her head. She’d read the file on their deaths. The parchment had documented every single spell used, timed what damage had resulted from certain illegal magicks. Her imagination was incredibly active, and the record gave fodder for the very terrors that plagued her psyche. 

Sometimes, in the nightmares that had her waking up a drenched sobbing mess, she dreamed her parents had remembered her right before they died. She could see the spark of recognition, and then the horrifying reality crash down on them. She knew her parents would have stayed defiant until the end, had imagined the very stubbornness set in their upturned chins until the final curse was cast. Given the many mysteries of magic, Hermione was not sure those dreams were made up. She couldn’t convince herself of what was worse; her parents dying without knowing why or them remembering exactly why they’d been targeted, knowing no help would come for them. 

She had been in a position like that, remembered the overwhelming helplessness and resignation of impending death. She’d never wish the feeling on her worse enemies, much less the couple that had raised and loved her, had shown her how to be a caring, responsible, member of society.

Coming into this bar, sitting in her spot in the corner and building up her alcohol tolerance, Hermione knew she could forget about everything. Even if the high of her night left the next morning, this sanctuary was here today. 

Some of the more regular patrons called out greetings to her as she walked past. She returned them with a kind smile, knowing if she wanted more than being alone with her thoughts, they’d welcome her at their table. She wasn’t sure what they thought of her, they never said anything. It was another positive trait about this place. Needing solitude or company, both were available as long as the bar was open. 

When she sat down, Mick the bartender was already there with her favorite drinks on two disposable coasters. “You’re a godsend, Mick.” Hermione happily shot back the tumbler of whiskey, breathing through the burn down her throat. She picked up the beer next, taking a small sip, and settled down for people watching. 

Immediately, Hermione’s gaze landed on two men sitting at the other end of the bar top. They were tucked into the other corner, minding their own business. No one approached them or looked their way. They were here together but said nothing, focused on the drinks in front of them. 

The first man had jet black hair, slicked back from his face and touching his shoulders. He wore a tailored black suit, the stark color a sharp contrast against his peach-colored skin. His face was blank as he stared at the honeyed brown liquid in his glass. Hermione could tell he was tense, a time bomb waiting to explode with enough provocation. 

The second man, however, was the complete opposite. His blond hair was pulled into a low ponytail. A full beard covered his face, a little scruffy from being ungroomed. He was wearing worn jeans, a plain red t-shirt, and a hooded jacket. He too had a beer and not the first from the small pile next to his coaster. Despite the places dingy look, Hermione knew the staff cared for this place like their baby. Mick would never leave so many empty bottles with a guest unless he hadn’t noticed them. 

Suspicious and with nothing else to do, Hermione focused her mind on the duo. She sent out some magic, a test of sorts, and was honestly not surprised when it was met with another’s. What surprised her was how strong it felt and foreign. The raven-haired man looked up, eyes sharp, and Hermione quickly ducked her head down. She scolded herself for her curiosity, for the intrusion on their privacy. Didn’t she come here for the same purpose? She wouldn’t take to being interrupted well. 

Mick cleared his throat, Hermione raising her head. He was placing another glass in front of her, one of a lighter brown liquid different than her usual. She furrowed her brow in confusion. “What’s this?”

Mick shrugged. “Bloke at the other end ordered it for you.”

Hermione looked across the way, already knowing who she would see. The man was there, watching her with a raised brow. He picked up his glass, saluting her with a nod, before taking another drink. The blond was looking between them, his lips mouthing something she couldn’t make out to his companion. 

Hermione contemplated her options. The drink might have been an invitation to join them, or just the man’s way of acknowledging a fellow magic user. Did she want to go to them? She did not recognize their features, but that did not mean they didn’t know her. Thanks to the tabloids, Hermione was a recognized figure in the Wizarding World. The last thing she wanted was to be fawned over or questioned about things people were still dying to know the details about, things kept from the public. 

Her choice was taken away from her when both men stood. They made their way over to where she was sitting. The one who’d ordered her drink slid into the stool beside her while the scruffy blond grabbed a vacant seat and brought it to her side.

Hermione noticed Mick start to make his way over, but then seemed to decide better of it and went to a stack of dirty glasses. She’d felt the quick pulse of magic, knew he had been directed elsewhere on purpose. She looked over at the suited man. “Mick’s a nice guy,” she reprimanded softly. “You shouldn’t use too much magic on him.”

The blond snorted, “That’s the best way for him to keep doing it, my lady. My brother is quite contrary.”

Said brother sent the blond a mild glare. Hermione stifled a giggle. “So you guys are brothers then? You don’t look the slightest bit alike.”

“Adopted,” they said in unison.

She did giggle then, strangely feeling at ease. She said, “My name is Hermione.”

“Thor,” the blond responded with a quick grin.

His brother was slower to reply. “Loki,” he said it reluctantly. 

She looked them over at the mention of their names. Having the names of mythical figures was uncommon in the Wizarding World, especially when the names were from a different region. She supposed they did fit. If the Thor and Loki from Norse Mythology were real, she imagined they’d look like these too. Still, they had not commented on her name so she would not comment on theirs. Instead, she asked, “What brings you here? It’s not often our kind frequents places like this.”

Thor looked down at the drink in his hand, sighing heavily and bringing it up for a quick pull. “We are not so easily recognizable here.”

Her eyes narrowed. They weren’t famous as far as she could remember. “Running from something?”

“Isn’t everyone?” Loki finally spoke up, giving her a challenging quirk of his brow. 

“I suppose,” Hermione allowed. That was true enough. 

They drank in companionable silence after that. Each was content with their own drinks. Hermione knew Loki was subtly studying her; she could feel his eye on her. Thor people watched with her, but his gaze was unfocused. He wasn’t presently there with them, his mind escaping to whatever he was thinking about. 

The door opened, and an older couple came in followed by a younger adult. He was clearly their son, heavily favoring his father with his mother's coloring. Hermione couldn’t keep her eyes off of them. They greeted Mick with familiar smiles, the young man ducking his head down when his father said something. She heard words like “celebratory drinks” and “very proud.”

A tear rolled down her face. 

“They look happy,” Loki commented. He was staring at the scene, his voice quiet. “The boy has done something to earn his parents favor.”

Hermione swallowed harshly, her heart bleeding as hair was ruffled with affection. Her father used to do that to her, saying he loved her annoyed expressions and scoldings when he did. She wished she could go back and tell him how much she hadn’t truly minded when he did it. She would give up anything for him to do it one more time. 

“It’ll never get easier,” she whispered to herself. The realization was bleak. 

“No,” Thor agreed. He too was staring at the family. One would only know he was bothered by the way he clenched the beer neck in his hand. 

“Should it?” Loki questioned. “Parents shape you into who you become at your maturity. They clothe you and protect you.” His eyes lowered. “Sometimes their love is unconditional. You strive to make them proud, to show them that their years of care were not wasted.”

“And then sometimes you fail,” Hermione breathed out. She could feel a sob burning in her chest. “You do things they would not approve of, that goes against what they taught you. You think it’s the right idea at the time, but you’re only deluding yourself.”

Loki laughed bitterly, “The look of disappointment is always the hardest pill to swallow. The hurt is even worse. Before you know it, she’s gone, and you’re left with the knowledge that you failed her teachings.”

Hermione presses a hand to her chest, a sob caught in her throat. These men understood what even her closest confidants couldn’t. 

She couldn’t take watching the happy family anymore. Placing money on the bar top, she looked at Thor and Loki. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> So obviously there will be a second part! I meant to keep it all in one story, but my muse decided her smut imagination was going on a vacation. This was fun to write until the writer's block! Thank you MMF for always hosting such fun events!


End file.
